


At The End of All Things

by HeavensCrack



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with some fluff, Drowning, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, No beta we die like these dummies, OR IS IT, ambiguous ending- take it as you will, i would say comfort but the comfort really doesn’t do much, the eagles are coming?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavensCrack/pseuds/HeavensCrack
Summary: A hunt gone wrong, the Witcher and his bard find themselves trapped in a cave.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	At The End of All Things

**Author's Note:**

> This was definitely inspired by me watching LOTR a couple months ago and getting very emotional about “the end of all things” at 6am.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt. Take out a few sirens, look for the missing man, return back to the village with his body. Easy, with any luck. 

Except, luck was never on Geralt’s side, no, because Destiny _loved_ fucking him over. The hunt itself was simple enough, they stuffed wax in their ears (despite Jaskier whining about wanting to hear the siren’s song and seeing how he compared- he was better, obviously-), killed most of the sirens, then followed the lone survivor to a small cave where they found the dead man’s corpse, abandoned to be eaten later on. 

It was going well, honestly, until the last fucking siren _screamed_ , its wailed song collapsing the eroding rock at the mouth of the cave, bringing the salt-encrusted stones down around them.

Geralt coughed, the dust and the sand stirred up in his lungs. He whirled around, blinking through the haze. “Jaskier!” 

“I’m here, I’m okay,” Jaskier called from the end of the cave. “Weep not, dear Witcher, you will not have to dig my very attractive corpse from the rubble.”

Knowing Jaskier was safe, Geralt turned back the entrance, examining it closely. 

“Is everything okay?” Jaskier asked, concern creeping into his voice. 

“Cave’s sealed,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier stepped closer. Geralt can hear his heartbeat pick up. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means unless I can move these rocks, we’re stuck in here.” 

“And we’re below sea level,” Jaskier realized. “We’re… fuck, Geralt, are we going to drown?”

“No,” Geralt grunted, trying to lift one of the collapsed rocks. It was too heavy, he couldn’t move them alone and Jaskier simply wasn’t strong enough to help. He’d find a different way. No fucking way they’d go out like this, in some fucking cave on the coast for a fucking siren contract. They were in low tide, should be for… well, fuck, he didn’t know, but for long enough to escape this fucking place. 

He could hear the bard walk away, searching for an alternate exit, but Geralt knew there wasn’t one. He couldn’t smell the fresh sea breeze that would flow through any possible hole. 

“Well, looks like there’s only one way out,” Jaskier announced. 

Geralt didn’t respond, eyes scanning the debris, for something, anything he could do to move it out of the way so they could get the _fuck_ out. 

Suddenly, he knew. He quickly made the sign, blasting Aard at the rocks. They yielded slightly, vibrating. Geralt blasted Aard after Aard, it would work. It would fucking work. The rocks were shaking now. The force would push them out, and they could get back to their fucking little boat and go back to the inn. Gods, he would need a drink after this, once they fucking got out of this damn fucking cave. He signed again, and again, focusing on moving those damn- 

“Geralt, stop,” Jaskier begged. “Stop. Just stop!” 

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt snarled, whirling to face the bard. Jaskier flinched back. Geralt softened, but his eyes were still filled with panic. “I can do this.”

“There’s no point,” Jaskier’s voice cracked against his will. “You’ll make it worse. When the tide comes in, that’s it.” 

There were a few cracks in the mound of fallen stone, not enough to let them out, but enough to let the water in. When the tide rose, they couldn’t stop it. Nothing could. For now, all they could do was wait.

“You were supposed to be safe.” Geralt slumped against the wall, defeated. “You were supposed to be safe, Jask.” 

“I’ve never been good at that,” Jaskier replied, moving to Geralt and slinging his arms around the other man’s neck. “It’s not your fault. Try as you might, you can’t fight the ocean.”

 _You can’t fight the ocean._ The truth of the words set in, even though Geralt didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to shout, punch something… but he could feel the bard trembling around him, see the barely contained terror in the bard’s blue eyes. They both knew what was coming, and Jaskier was _scared_. Geralt inhaled sharply. He needed to calm down. For Jaskier’s sake, if not his own. He knew this day would come. He was ready for it. He could pretend he was. 

Geralt pushed himself off the wall, placing his hands on Jaskier’s waist. He stood on his toes, kissing Jaskier’s forehead softly. He trailed down Jaskier’s face, gentle brushes of his lips on his eyelids, his nose, down his cheeks and to his mouth. If these were truly going to be their last hours, he’s going to make them nice for Jaskier.

Geralt wasn’t a very tactile person. He’d never been comfortable with touch, not before or even after meeting Jaskier, really, but over their many years together, he’d begun to relax and enjoy it more. Jaskier loved it, his eyes lighting up whenever Geralt would be the first to initiate anything- a squeeze of a hand, a head on the shoulder, pulling him closer on cold nights- Geralt lived for those looks, so he did it more. Because Jaskier loved it, and he loved Jaskier, and really, he didn’t mind when it was the bard. Anything to make him happy. 

He brushed Jaskier’s lips once more, then pressed his forehead against the bard’s, humming softly.

They didn’t know how long they stood there, just holding each other. Time didn’t seem to matter. Gods, Geralt didn’t want to know, he just knew he wanted to freeze this moment and ignore what was coming altogether. They could be happy here. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” Geralt murmured. _I’m glad you’re the one at my side. That you’ve always been the one at my side._

 _I wish it wasn’t you_ , Jaskier thought. _In a perfect world, you would be safe, on dry land, with Roach. Poor Roach, who’s going to take care of her?_

“Who thought this would be how we went out?” He said instead with a shaky laugh. Geralt tightened his grip, closing his eyes. Jaskier didn’t move, their foreheads still pressed together. “The Witcher and his bard, I wonder who will tell this story. I don’t think we’ll be making it out for me to tell it.” 

Nobody would sing this song, write the heartwrenching ballad Jaskier felt they were owed. In truth, they would just be another unknown disappearance, a talk in the tavern perhaps about a bard who once sang and had since gone missing. Vesemir would sit in the cavernous dining hall of Kaer Morhen, waiting as winter came and went, knowing that the child he raised wasn’t coming back. The White Wolf and his lark would fade to legend before being forgotten. 

The water started to pour in, lapping at their feet with every pull of the waves. The tide was coming.

Geralt moved his hands off Jaskier’s waist to intertwine their fingers. “You’re afraid.” 

“Of course I’m afraid,” Jaskier tried to laugh again. “Aren’t you?” 

Jaskier, to put it frankly, was terrified. He always knew the day would come. He figured he’d die on the Path, from a bandit attack, a rogue ghoul, an unfairly attractive bruxa. He’d die trying to protect his Witcher, because oh no no, Jaskier would never be able to just wait at the tavern. Geralt didn’t take care of himself, so Jaskier would have to. Maybe he’d be stabbed by a cuckolded husband, after years of quiet seething. Or strung up by a particularly upset former lover. Perhaps a tumble off a cliff. Once he feared Nilfgaard would find him and leave him broken to find his Witcher. In his wildest fantasies, he would be old and grey and cuddled up to his Witcher by the coast. Now that he was really dying… on the coast, coincidentally… he was scared.

Part of the beauty of mortality was that it ended. Jaskier had always tried to love with his whole heart, pour himself into everything he did, feel every damn thing that came his way, for better or for worse. Surviving was never good enough. He wanted to _live_. And sweet Melitele, Jaskier wanted to live. 

But he wouldn’t. He would die in this collapsed cave in the sea. He would die, his candlelight that he tried to shine on everyone snuffed out in the sea water. The water swirled around his knees. 

“I’m not going to mourn what could have been,” Jaskier whispered. “I had a good life, and I wouldn’t trade it, I wouldn’t trade you, for the world. We have saved so many people. We’ve had a good run, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier leaned in, softly kissing Geralt. Geralt opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. “If I had one regret,” Jaskier murmured against his lips, “it would be the fact that this inevitable doom is quite a boner killer.” 

Geralt laughed. “Only you.” _Only you would be horny at a time like this_. That was his Jaskier. Slipping in filthy humour for all occasions, attempting to lighten the mood. The water was at their necks now. Jaskier’s heart pounded. Geralt clutched him closer. He wouldn’t lie and say they were safe. They weren’t safe. 

A Witcher always died with a sword in hand. Geralt would be the first to die with a bard in his. He expected to die in pain and alone, but instead, he wasn’t alone. He was loved. 

The water continued to rise. Jaskier had let go, starting to tread the water, tilting his head as far back as he could in a vain attempt to keep above the water, to keep breathing. The survival instinct was too strong. He wouldn’t drown. He couldn’t let himself. But he would. No matter how hard his bard fought, he would lose. 

Geralt closed his eyes, unwilling to see the panicked thrashing. He reached out, grabbing a hand, attempting to soothe. They would be in agony soon, as their lungs fought to keep the water out. Geralt knew that he would last longer, his ability to hold his breath was more durable. He wouldn’t let his bard be alone, though. They would be together. 

The water around him stilled. It hurt now, he could feel his lungs burn as they strained to get oxygen. He pulled Jaskier close again, holding him as he let go of his will, letting the water rush into his lungs. 

At the end of all things, Geralt was surprisingly content. How odd it was though, that the water he inhaled held the slight scent of lilacs and gooseberries.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently sea-caves don’t actually work like that, but fuck it, they do for these purposes. It’s 1am and I really can’t be bothered to rewrite this! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
